


Spice it up

by Iithril



Series: We could sing pretty melodies [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Shopping, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22416937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iithril/pseuds/Iithril
Summary: Matt has to find some presents for Christmas, but the day takes an unexpected turn.In which Matt Murdock, attorney at law, goes to a Christmas Market and persuades a stranger to help him picking his presents.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: We could sing pretty melodies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737022
Comments: 23
Kudos: 173
Collections: Fratt Week





	Spice it up

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my modest participation for Fratt Week, for the prompt "City"! I wanted to do more but time is a coward and fled during the week. 
> 
> Many thanks to titC for organising this. It gave me the opportunity to write about a pairing I'm very fond of.  
> And a huge thanks to eachpeachpearplum for the beta!

Christmas was close. Matt could feel it: all the city was buzzing with energy, as the humdrum of thousands of people frantically preparing to celebrate increased day after day.

Matt knew he had to find presents for Foggy and Karen. Even if he planned to spend Christmas alone, it felt important to him to get a little something for his two dearest friends. He had meant to go several times already, planning to do so early in December so that he wouldn't get caught up in the chaos. 

But every time something had prevented him from _actually_ going. A late client barging into the office just before they called it a day? Karen coming in breathless with new documents that must have taken hours of research to dig up and that she claimed would help their cases? Foggy going at Josie's to talk about Marcie and Matt being too worried about his friend being alone and drunk that he had to go with him? Every day it was something new. But he had still had time, so that hadn't really worried him.

It _should have_ , considering that he now had only five days left. So he had called an early departure for the day, claiming he had errands to do – he didn't want to let his friends know he still hadn't bought anything. Luckily, Foggy was deep in documents Karen had brought, and had just made a distracted _Hm_ and waved him goodbye.

Matt had grabbed his cane, adjusted his vest and set off in the direction of Bryant Park, which was the closest Christmas Market he knew of.

The weather was chilly and windy but not too cold, so he just had the scarf that Karen insisted he wore on a daily basis and his usual work clothes. His cane was tapping on the concrete and the sound was filling the streets. There were a few people, as always, most of them hurriedly walking, their shoes completing the melody of his cane. Still, Matt had expected more, but he wasn't going to complain about it, given all the times he had been shoved around by careless walkers or bikers.

The air was bitter, and among the few people he passed, he tasted the stress they radiated. A couple that kindly stood aside to let him walk had surprisingly soothing heartbeats, but the woman wore a heavy perfume that made him wrinkle his nose though he tried to conceal it. He exhaled slowly after he had moved away, and he felt the familiar pang of a forming headache at his temples. Today wasn’t a good day for his senses, really. Too much to focus on and too much information to process at the same time.

It only worsened as he got closer to the Christmas Market. People were being rude again, not necessarily on purpose, but shoving him or blocking his cane – most of them apologised, but there was always one to make an angry gesture he pretended not to notice, or whisper a rude comment he wished he didn't hear. Then the sounds hit him hard: the voices, people laughing, children shouting, and the terrible and overplayed songs some market stalls broadcast at a ridiculously high volume.

The buzzing in his mind increased and he stifled a pained sigh. He joined the queue to get into the market and held on tightly to his cane. He forced himself to play it calm and let the security guards at the park's entrance search him, and he stood still even when one of them pointed a light at his eyes to ensure he really needed the cane.

Technically, he could walk around the market like a sighted person and no one would be able to tell he was blind, but getting a present with the right colours would be impossible on his own. So he retrieved his cane without protesting when one of the guards put it in his hands and thanked them – he could forgive them, given their work conditions. He would have gone crazy after only one day of hearing the same music over and over again, and they had to deal with people on top of that.

He stood near the entrance for a second, trying to figure out where to head first, when an icy gust made him shiver and snuggle his nose deeper into his scarf. Scents surrounded him, carried by the wind. He now knew there was a cotton candy stall ten feet away on his left, and a leather stall twelve feet away on his right. He also knew all the perfumes worn by the people in the market, how many dogs were there, and that the guard who searched him had eaten a taco for lunch.

For a split second, he wished he had a cold: a blocked nose, as annoying as it was, would have reduced the strain on his senses.

He had been standing still for long enough that one of the guards came to him and asked if he was okay. Matt thanked him for his concern before moving forwards, even more careful in the dense crowd of people carelessly wandering around and children running without looking at their surroundings. Motion was good, prevented him from dwelling too much on everything he smelt.

He knew what he wanted to buy for Karen, but wasn't sure about Foggy yet. His friend had hinted to him about his lack of gloves in the cold winter of New York, but Karen had also suggested a coffee machine for their office, since Foggy loved to complain about the lack of coffee first thing in the morning, almost as much as he enjoyed complaining about the traffic and his creaky chair. 

Matt had intended to find him a nice bottle of Scotch, or a fine French wine – something he knew Foggy would like. But since his associate had mentioned the gloves, Matt felt kind of responsible for his hands' well-being.

Carefully sniffing the air and slightly tilting his head to help himself find what he wanted, he headed towards what he identified as a wool stall, based on the tincture scents and the softened sounds that were emanating from it – surely they had gloves.

There were fewer people in this part of the market, as it was further from the most attractive stalls and the ice rink, around which gathered at least half of the population of the market. The few people who were interested in what the merchants over here had to offer were mostly walking peacefully, probably admiring what was displayed for them. Matt overheard siblings discussing which puzzle they should pick for their grandfather, and a group of friends, possibly, who were arguing over spices for a traditional Lebanese recipe. 

As he passed the group of friends – he counted six of them – he noticed a peculiarly slow heartbeat right next to the spices stall. He stopped for a second, focusing on the powerful, rhythmic sound of this heart to identify its owner. It was a man sitting next to the stall, presumably cross-legged and tying something in his hands. With another sniff, Matt guessed it was leather the man was braiding.

There was an aura around him, something emanating that didn’t felt menacing, but almost overwhelming. 

Distracted by the man, Matt didn’t notice the group of friends fumbling around with their newly bought spice bag, until a projectile came flying at him. Caught by surprise, he tried to deflect the projectile by swinging his cane and protecting his face with his other hand. 

He wasn’t ready for the cloud of particles which caressed his face and ignited his skin and his sinuses. The taste on his lips notified him it was probably sweet chili, but his brain shut down right after this piece of information in a futile attempt to protect himself from the fire burning on his skin. 

He heard a strangled cry before realising he was the one making the noise and felt the coldness of the frozen ground when he collapsed, his legs failing under him. The music of the stalls around him and the ambient sounds of the market were distorted, as if he was hearing them from underwater. He struggled to breathe, choking and coughing, his throat on fire with every new ragged breath he took in. 

After what seemed like hours to him, he suddenly felt something cold and oily on the blaze consuming every inch of skin that had been in contact with the powder. Warm and firm hands passed over his face, taking his glasses with great care, and then slowly forced his hands to release his cane, which he was holding on to desperately. A damp cotton tissue was pressed to his arms, his neck, and Matt felt the fire cool down, stifled by the oily liquid soaking the tissue. Another dry tissue followed, which removed to remaining oil and particles on his skin, extinguishing the fire for good. Sound came back to him and he heard the group of friends whispering in worried tones. 

“Are you sure he’s okay?”

“I swear it wasn’t on purpose! The bag just… the bag just slipped through my fingers. The bag just slipped.”

“That cry was pretty scary though.”

“Good thing this man was there.”

“Yeah.”

Matt let out a relieved sigh, grateful for the help even though the tissue was rubbing against his skin in an unpleasant way. His skin felt all oily but the powder wasn’t burning him anymore, which was definitely an improvement.

He immediately tried to rise to his feet, but dizziness hit him and he stumbled, his hand searching for a stable point. 

It found one, a warm, pliant pillar which stood still under his weight and even soothed his back ever so carefully. When he regained a better hold on his senses, Matt turned to the man holding him, whom he recognised as the owner of the steady heartbeat which had distracted him.

The man was scrutinizing him without a word, his damp tissue ready in his other hand. Matt identified the liquid as a vegetable oil, but nearly unflavoured – hazelnut oil, maybe, but he wasn’t sure. The man had a rather distinct scent in comparison: he smelt like powder and metal, and a bit of a canine smell that lingered. He was slightly taller than Matt, and broader. He was almost vibrating under Matt’s fingers, and Matt could feel the twitching of the muscles under his fingers even through the leather vest the man sported.

“Thank you.” Matt managed to let out in a croaky voice, his head still buzzing with the sensory overload. 

The man shrugged, then seemed to remember he was dealing with a blind man, so made a deep _Hrm_ noise, and Matt guessed that it was embarrassment prompting the slightly increased rate of the man’s heartbeat and the way he tensed even more than before.

Matt relaxed and braced himself before making another effort to get to his feet. This time, it was more successful, though the world span for a split second before he mentally ordered it to stop. His saviour had stretched out his hand, ready to catch him again if necessary. 

“I think this time I can stand on my own.” Matt told the man, grateful for his help.

“Wouldn’t be so sure of that. Here, your cane.”

The man’s voice was even deeper than Matt had expected, and slower. The words were rumbled, almost as if it was difficult for him to talk, to form a coherent sentence. 

Matt extended a hand and the man placed his cane in it and closed Matt’s fingers around it, again, not roughly, but with unexpected strength. His glasses followed in his other hand, and Matt put them back on his nose and adjusted his posture before speaking.

“My name is Matt, Matt Murdock. Thanks for helping me, really. I certainly didn’t expect to be attacked by sweet chili on my way to buy presents,” Matt added, sounding somewhat more bitter than he intended, “but I’m glad you were here.”

Who knew what could have happened to him if no one had helped him? Worse, if someone had tried to pour water on him? That would have been a trip straight to the hospital. Clearly the man had very good reflexes and was used to reacting appropriate while under pressure. 

Perhaps it was his job to put oil on people burned by the spices. That would explain his presence near the stall.

Matt presented his other hand so that the man could shake it, and almost shivered under his scrutiny. His saviour hesitated a split second before firmly shaking Matt’s hand. His hand was calloused, and his grip had a latent strength, as if the man could crush him but decided not to. Considering the muscles Matt felt under his hands and the ease with which the man caught him when he stumbled, that was a definite possibility. 

“Frank.” 

The name was dropped with the same baritone voice – or was it a bass? Matt didn’t know enough about vocal ranges to be sure about it, but the shiver it sent down his spine was definitely something. Frank released his hand, his fingers twitching in an uncontrolled reflex. 

“But you should be thanking the spice seller. Oil’s from him.” Frank added, making a small head movement towards the stall, presumably where the owner stood. Matt lowered his chin in the general direction he remembered the stall was, grateful for the help that was provided. The merchant waved at them both and muttered something in a language Matt didn’t recognise.

Frank tucked his oily tissue in one of his back pockets and was about to return to his place, but he stopped when Matt stuttered. “I- I’m sorry to ask you something so… strange, but… I’m searching for presents for friends and I could use a, how to phrase that? An eye, I guess.”

Matt didn’t want the man to go away, at least not before he got to interact with him a little more. There was something about him, apart from his aura, something that titillated Matt’s curiosity. 

Frank glanced around and answered after another silence, still not looking at Matt. “I’m not very good at choosing presents.”

His body had tensed and his heart rate had increased by a few beats, so Matt insisted, playing on his charm and holding on his cane as if it was the only thing preventing him from falling – which, given the sensory overload he wasn’t quite past, it probably was.

“I just need someone to describe things to me, that’s all. I know what I want.”

Frank shrugged and sighed before tucking his hands into his pockets and nodding. He made a _Tch_ sound and Matt smiled when he understood the man was annoyed at himself. He stood still as he waited for a verbal confirmation – a lawyer’s habit, perhaps. It was as irritated as he expected it to be, a low grunt, and Frank held out his elbow for Matt to hold on.

Acting a little hesitant, Matt switched his cane to his left hand and gently placed the other one on Frank’s arm. 

“So what is it that you’re searchin’ for?” Frank inquired, his voice barely above a whisper but still loud and clear for Matt’s hearing. First good points for the man: he knew how to lead a blind person, and wasn’t among those who thought blind also equaled deaf. 

“Gloves for a male friend, and a nice notebook for a journalist.” Matt stated, matching Frank’s slow and steady pace as the man maneuvered him through the crowd like a child – perhaps the stature of the man had a part in it, or perhaps Frank had a really scary face, but people were moving out of the way. 

“There’s a nice wool stall near here.” The man spoke as if he weighed every word and let them out reluctantly. His heartbeat had returned to its slow pulsing and nothing indicated he was annoyed or particularly moved by helping Matt. “The one you were heading to ain’t nothing but scarfs and plushies.”

“Well then, I follow you.” Matt responded with a light tone and a smile. He was met with another almost soundless grunt, and his guide turned into another row of stalls. Patiently, his arm a support for Matt’s still hesitant body, Frank muttered indications, mostly single words, as he led him to the wool stall. 

“Step.” “Couple in the middle of the alley.” “Dog.” 

With that last word, Matt felt the first change in his guide. There was a warm, fond note in his voice and he relaxed for a split second. His lips stretched into a thin smile and his heartbeat rose a bit before descending again when the dog was out of sight. 

“What kind of dog?” Matt enquired, to test if it would help the man open up a bit, given the way Frank had reacted. But only a grunt answered him, though it was followed by the same pulse rise. “Pitbull.”

Matt knew nothing about dogs. He had been offered a guide dog once, but he much preferred the cane and he couldn’t possibly take care of a dog, living the way he did. The few interactions he had had with dogs had been when he was still learning how to use his senses after his sight loss and he had found abandoned puppies. He only remembered the furry creatures by the sounds they had made, the way they wouldn’t stop moving in his hands and the way they had _destroyed_ his shoes by chewing them to death.

Frank abruptly stopped near a stall that smelt sweet and dry. Surrounding sounds were softened when coming through it, and when Frank guided him in front of the stall, Matt felt under his hand the familiar texture of wool. A small, old lady was sitting on a wooden stool, and the regular clicking of her knitting needles complimented the melody of her frail heartbeat and her frailer breathing. She slowed down a bit when they arrived but quickly resumed after Frank waved at her.

“What colour do you need?” Frank asked, tilting his head towards Matt, who hadn’t expected the question and didn’t have an answer ready. As he was about to speak, Frank mumbled something unintelligible, even to Matt’s enhanced senses. 

The lawyer chose not to ask about it and simply answered, “Something neutral. Taupe, maybe? Or a dark blue?”

He imagined the incredulous look on Frank’s face and smiled at the surprise he picked up in his voice when the man blurted, “How the hell a blind guy knows the colour taupe?” 

Matt let out a genuine laugh. “It’s thanks to my friend, who decided he had to teach me how to dress after we both became lawyers.” 

That had been a memorable night, involving a rather embarrassing amount of alcohol and Foggy searching through the Wikipedia page about colour names and making Matt guess them. He remembered taupe because it meant “mole” in French, and the idea of clothes being the colour of a mole had been hilarious to them back then. 

The old lady stopped knitting and extended a trembling hand over the gloves, scarves and hats that were displayed on the counter. In a small voice, she explained, “These are taupe. Alpaca wool, which is softer than sheep’s wool, and better at keeping your hands warm.”

Matt followed Frank’s gentle gesture to guide his hand to the gloves, which were indeed softer than what he was used to. He couldn’t possibly wear those kind of gloves anyway, but Foggy would appreciate something like that. 

As he examined the gloves with his fingers, feeling the tightness of the wool and the great care with which they had been crafted, the lady moved her hand to hover above another pair of gloves. 

“Those are navy blue. Mohair, more elastic. If your friend is a lawyer, he can wear those for official occasions.”

Again, Frank led his hands to the pair of gloves, which were much softer than the previous ones, somehow closer to silk. They had a kind of elasticity under Matt’s fingers, and he knew he had found what he wanted.

He turned to Frank to ask his opinion, but the man spoke before Matt could. “Mohair is flame-resistant. And navy blue goes with suits like yours.”

He pinched Matt’s shoulder, his tone the perfect balance between condescending and teasing. The lady let out a small laugh which left her breathless, and both men turned to her when she coughed. Matt enquired first about her well-being, but she dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand, before remembering he was blind and making a croaked, “I’m alright, young man.”

Matt bought the gloves under Frank’s careful scrutiny, and profusely thanked the old lady after Frank did, his voice warmer. The lady hadn’t appeared disturbed in the slightest by Frank’s appearance, but that seemed to be the privilege of being old: nothing could surprise you anymore. She waved them goodbye as well, wishing them a Merry Winter, to which Matt automatically responded with an enthusiastic, “Merry Christmas”. 

Next, Frank brought him to one of the leather stalls Matt had detected, near the entrance to the market. He described the various notebooks that were displayed, sometimes adding a little commentary that would make Matt smile or laugh silently. His voice was almost drowned under the Christmas music that was playing, but Matt still heard him every time, and he was glad Frank provided him something to focus on instead of the music.

“That one has a dragon on the cover.”

“This one has lines.”

“This one is supposed to have a special clip for your pen, but unless you write with a feather, it’s not going to fit.” 

“This one has terrible colours. Your friend should give them some classes.” 

Frank had eased up a bit. He wasn’t as tense as he had been when he started to guide Matt, but his fingers were still twitching from time to time. His voice was also slowly warming up, and even though he still spoke as if he counted his words, his sentences were more elaborate. 

In the end, they moved to another stall after deflecting the attention of the merchant, a young woman – a brunette, Frank had indicated once they had been far enough – who had insisted on showing them countless notebooks that Frank had all refused. 

The stall they visited after that belonged to an older man, in his fifties, and a younger one, closer to his early twenties according to Frank. It was in another quiet corner of the market, and Matt relished the calm. 

The owners showed them different kinds of paper and bindings and answered all the questions both Matt and Frank shot at them. Their question routine was well-established, thanks to the previous stall which had given them a lot of information, and they were taking turns firing them. It made the younger merchant laugh several times and Matt sensed the older one smile.

Matt’s hand was now resting on Frank’s forearm, and he felt a lot more comfortable, because the man was a natural. He had rough manners, but not unkind, even though Matt felt he _could be_ if needed. And he was witty and perceptive, which only gave him more points in Matt’s ranking. 

“We are going to take this one, then.” 

“So the red one, ninety pages, special binding?”

“Yep.” Frank grunted, which made Matt smile again. 

The younger merchant handed them a small package, which Frank picked up as if it was nothing, before putting it into Matt’s hands. Matt paid, extending his hand with the money over the counter, and he shivered when he touched the merchant’s cold hands. 

“Just in case you were looking, there’s a very nice stall with amazing gloves three alleys away. You take the first right here, then left, and left again after a candy stall.” Matt stated softly. He felt Frank’s surprise in the way he tensed up and his eyebrows raised, but the man remained silent. 

The merchants thanked him and Matt put back his hand on Frank’s forearm. 

Frank brought him back to the entrance, then removed his arm and tucked his hands into his vest pockets, rocking slightly back and forth. Matt broke the silence first. 

“Well… Thank you, you know, for guiding me and helping me. Would have been a pain in my ass otherwise.”

Frank snorted. “You would have bought the notebook with stupid flowers just because it was a _girly_ one.” He mimicked the quotation marks without thinking about it. 

Matt just laughed, shifting from one foot to the other, now feeling the cold of the night that had fallen while they were wandering. “I would have been brought to the hospital because of flying sweet chili first, you know.”

“Yeah, nah, someone else would have intervened. You weren’t a pretty sight.” Frank countered, dismissing Matt’s implied gratitude. 

“Thank you, Frank.” Speaking his saviour’s name for the first time felt weird, and Frank shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking at the ground.

“No need to thank me, Red. You had some nice reflexes, just weren’t ready for pepper. Nobody ever is.”

Matt tilted his head and asked, “Red?”

“Yeah, you know, the scarf.” Frank replied, shrugging again and pointing at Matt’s scarf before shoving his hands back in his vest.

“Oh! Is it red?”

“I thought your friend taught you colours.”

“Well, I’m blind, you see. It’s kind of hard to stay up to date.”

Frank let out a raspy laugh, almost like a bark, and Matt used the opportunity to speak up again. 

“Anyway, if you ever need a lawyer, you can find me here.” He handed a small card with Nelson and Murdock Law Office’s address and opening hours and silently thanked Karen for the idea. 

“Don’t think I ever gonna need one, but thanks.” Frank took the card and put it into a chest pocket, slowly closing it before rubbing his hands together and adding, “Not that I don’t like you, Red, but I got things to do now.”

Matt inclined his head, knowing the man couldn’t deflect a physical display of gratitude, and readied his cane. Frank took this as his signal to depart, and turned back into the market after silently hovering for a few seconds, unsure what to do. Matt followed his heartbeat until it was drowned out by the mass of people and the terrible music that he had managed to ignore while with Frank’s company. 

He mused over his afternoon. First things first, he had the presents he was looking for, and thanks to Frank’s guidance, he was sure they were nice, good-looking and functional presents. He could have done it on his own, but it would have taken him literal hours and would have been a much bigger pain. 

Plus, he had met Frank. He had guessed the man was former military, given the way he stood every time they stopped and how he couldn’t stop inspecting his surroundings. Matt was a bit puzzled by what had brought Frank near the spices stall in the first place, but many things could have. 

There was definitely something special about Frank. More than just the consideration he had for Matt – sometimes guiding him with expert precision, sometimes gesturing instead of speaking and then sighing in annoyance when he realised – it was the whole way he behaved. The man burned with barely contained rage and brutal efficiency, yet was still considerate enough to care about an old lady’s cough. Damn, he had even suggested infusions to help her!

Matt knew the chances of seeing Frank again were slim. It was only luck that had brought them together, and he had enjoyed their time more than he thought he would enjoy his wanderings in Bryant Park, what with the terrible music, large crowd and dishonest merchants.

Even so, hope didn’t cost him anything. And he now knew he would recognize Frank’s heartbeat anywhere. 

Matt tightened his grasp on his presents and smiled at the cloudy sky of Hell’s Kitchen. He couldn’t wait to tell the story to Karen and Foggy. That would give him something nice to discuss for Christmas Eve. And maybe Karen would know how to find a “Frank”, former military who liked dogs and smelled like weapons and gunpowder and with the most soothing and steady heartbeat Matt had ever heard.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a moment and enjoyed your reading, let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you~


End file.
